


In Which York Discusses Everyone's Ratio of Goodness to Badness

by RoyalHeather



Series: before there was red vs. blue there was project freelancer [6]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Happy, Lunchtime conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6036805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalHeather/pseuds/RoyalHeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>York has some very serious, scientific, 100% accurate theories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which York Discusses Everyone's Ratio of Goodness to Badness

“So here’s the thing,” says York. “Everyone’s got some goodness and some badness, right? Most people are like, sixty-forty. But North’s like ninety-five percent good, so all that badness gets condensed into the remaining five percent. So it’s like… extra-condensed bad. Like an espresso.”

Wash narrows his eyes skeptically at him from across the table. “That doesn’t really make sense.”

“Shut up, yes it does. It’s science.”   

“Uh-huh. What are you, then?”

York shrugs. “Ehh, like fifty-fifty.”

“And me?”

Leaning over, York grabs Wash’s face in his hands and smushes his cheeks. “You are a precious cinnamon roll, too beautiful for this world, too pure -”

“Please stop.”

Chuckling, York falls back into his seat; Wash massages his face and glares balefully at York.

“Okay,” he says. “Maybe like seventy-five to twenty-five? Yeah, I can see that.”

Wash snorts and takes a drink of his soda. “All right, what about Wyoming?”

“Wyoming? Oh, he’s like a hundred percent bad, no question - heyyyyy, speak of the dev-OW!”

York’s sentence is cut off sharply as Wyoming whacks him upside of the head. “Knock knock.”

“Who’s fucking there?”

“Two.”

“Two who?”

“Two idiots sitting at a table.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” York calls after him. Wyoming just flips him a cheerful middle finger and sits down across from Maine, who’s brooding over a sandwich. “Asshole.”

“Hey, fellas.” Carolina sits down next to Wash with a tray of food; she’s sweaty and disheveled, and must have come from a training session. “What’s up?”

“York’s figuring out what ratio of good to bad we all are,” says Wash.

“Oh.” Carolina takes the top bun off her burger and starts layering french fries on top of the patty. “What did you decide so far?”

“I’m fifty-fifty, Wash is seventy-five twenty-five, North is ninety-five five but that five is like, super concentrated,” says York. “Wyoming is one hundred percent dick.”

Wash chokes on the soda he’s drinking, and Carolina thumps him on the back. “What about me?” she asks.

“Hmmm.” York cradles his chin thoughtfully, spends a good long while looking at her, until he can tell she’s starting to get flustered. “HMMMM.”

“Come on, York.”

“I’m gonna say… seventy-thirty,” says York. “Maybe sixty-five thirty-five, if you really try.”

“Thanks,” says Carolina dryly.

“No problem,” says York, stealing a french fry. “How was training?”

“Fine.” Carolina swats York’s hand away as he goes for a second fry. “How was yours?”

“Shitty.” York looks to Wash, who rolls his eyes in corroboration. “This whole not-having-depth-perception thing really sucks -”

“You’ll get used to it,” says Carolina, with what might be sympathy, and takes a large bite of her hamburger. York takes the opportunity to steal another fry. “York, go buy your own goddamn food.”

“I’m poor,” he whines. “I don’t have any money left.”

She snorts at him from over the burger. “What, did you gamble it all away again?”

“Poker night with the guys from Munitions,” says York. “They fucking hustled us -”

“Well, speak for yourself, York,” says Wash, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head. “Some of us did pretty well…”

“Beginner’s luck,” he responds, and flicks Wash’s empty soda can at him. In attempting to dodge it Wash overbalances and falls out of his chair.

“You know what,” huffs Wash, climbing back into his seat. “You’re not fifty-fifty. You’re like, eighty percent bad. Eighty-five.” Carolina, still chewing, raises her eyebrows at York.

“Those are some serious allegations,” she says, once she’s swallowed. “How do you respond to that?”

“Eh, I’ll take it,” says York, leaning back to put his feet up on the table. “It’s all part of my charm.”


End file.
